Letter Number Two-Hundred Nine.

Dear Hipsters Who Claim Not To Be Hipsters,

You're a hipster. How can you look, talk, walk, and act like a fucking hipster and have the gall to claim you're simply an artist, aspiring anarchist, or overzealous neckerchief aficionado? Congratulations on perfecting the "I don't give a shit about anything, not even my blatant poserness" facial expression, though.

Please let me choke you.

Love,
Kymba

Letter Number Two-Hundred Eight.

Dear Tea Tree Australian Chewing Sticks,

Giving myself multiple voluntary splinters in my tongue sure makes me feel cool! I can't believe I had forgotten why I bought you last time!

Love,
Kymba